James Fitz-Gerald Poet Free verse

Dang Slang

They call us 'rents'.
Less kind than kin.
Their words obscured in part
Though their tongues
Are hinged and unpinned.
As if they could think,
But not fully speak,
Their minds formed--
Simple, 
Mono-syllabic their words,
Concatenated words,
Puffing and cheeky words.
As if, tongues are burdensome, 
Spared the effort spent.
Lips to move--hard pressed,
Breathing steady, no duress, 
But a second syllable?
It is seldom expressed.
A decade back
Would we have, yea did,
Spew our poly-syllabic words
Coin of our age
Page upon blessed page
Until, by-and-by, 
We had to stop, pause, breathe.
Ah-h-h-h.
And there is the rub!
We made those words last,
If last they could,
If last they would
Longer than we, ourselves.
And where is that language now?
The Next Generation speaks!
Soon Americans will be 'Cans'
Or is that word already
Rendered,
Or rent?
Eh?
Oh, not the 'rents like we
Nor rent once paid as fee,
But rent as rent
As rended, twisted, spent;
Torn in twain,
Until all that is left of the word
Is an honorable mention
A guttural intervention,
A single syllable
Meaningless
Incoherent.
Coinage for a lazy tongue.

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